


An Even Better Bad Decision

by nowherenew



Category: Tyranny (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Knotting, M/M, Praise Kink, Questionable Diplomatic Intent, Rimming, Rutting, Scent Marking, Size Difference, Size Kink, Territoriality (a smidge), Tongue-fucking (literally), fuckin in a cave like tunon taught you in fatebinder school, i will be taking no questions because i have to save my energy for the ones the lord will ask me, out here gettin bred for diplomacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:34:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24357400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowherenew/pseuds/nowherenew
Summary: That night in the woods with the beastmen has not left Sinking’s mind, even after two years. Delirium hovered and smeared itself all over their first meeting, but Sinking could never forget. That’s why he’s here, after all. Of course, making peace with the Bastard Tier tribes is a primary directive, but he was the first to volunteer, and the loudest. He’ll be loudest again, if he plays his cards right. No harm in mixing business and pleasure.
Relationships: Male Fatebinder/OC, Male Fatebinder/Original Beastman Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	An Even Better Bad Decision

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SunshineSea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunshineSea/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The best of all bad decisions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21485872) by [SunshineSea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunshineSea/pseuds/SunshineSea). 



> So basically, Sinking (SunshineSea’s fatebinder) has taken over my entire life and here is some sinning!

Delirium hovered and smeared itself all over their first meeting, but Sinking would never forget. That’s why he’s here, after all. Of course, making peace with the Bastard Tier tribes is a primary directive, but he was the first to volunteer, and the loudest. He’ll be loudest again, if he plays his cards right. No harm in mixing business and pleasure, if he has the good fortune to meet the three hunters once more. 

The last time he saw Keeps-In-Mouth, his face was unbroken. Now, it can boast gravitas, violence, but not wholeness. The three gashes paint a trail from his forehead to his upper lip. The price of leadership in a tribe like theirs, Sinking assumes. Perhaps not an alpha when they first met, but now he sits at the top of the heap. 

“I see you’ve been well. May I?” Sinking extends his hand, as though inviting a handshake—low, but open. Keeps-In-Mouth grasps his wrist and tugs him closer, bends over to smell his hair. A small chuff sends hair fanning into his face, but the beastman lifts Sinking’s hand and deposits it on his own head.

“Human can touch,” the Alpha declares, low and promising.

The fur interrupts at the scars, smooth and healed stripes of baldness. He’s been in charge for a while. Sinking hopes that his pack feels as safe as he did when he was at Keeps-In-Mouth’s mercy years ago. “They went down fighting.”

“Yes. Went down. Keeps-In-Mouth leads now.” He bares his teeth, pride in every syllable. 

Responsibility has not changed his scent to inferior human noses, but the foulness summons memories that are anything but. Sinking’s mouth is suddenly dry, but he swallows, lolls his tongue around his mouth. His body won’t be his undoing tonight; theirs will. “And, ah, the others? They’re still running around?”

Keeps-In-Mouth sniffs him again, and his lips curl, breath slows. “Lay-Claw and Fall-Foot hunt. Back come sun-fall.” The feather-light touch on Sinking’s shoulder becomes pressure as the newest Blackpaw alpha takes hold of his arm. “Human comes in private?”

Well, yes, that is at least part of the plan. Sinking nods, scratches Keeps-In-Mouth’s face firmly, grips his fur behind his ear. “We don't have to wait up,” he says. “Just make sure there’s some of me left to share.”

“Human wants to be... Human gave word to Keeps-In-Mouth two winters past; word is lost. Was rut-word.” Keeps-In-Mouth steps even further into Sinking’s space, and Sinking’s mouth is suddenly anything _but_ dry. “What word? Keeps-In-Mouth will say again.”

Sinking stares at him, can feel his own heartbeat in his arm against Keeps-In-Mouth’s firm hand. “It was, ah—”

“More time human takes to speak, less time before hunters come back. Keeps-In-Mouth does not want to share first rut,” the Alpha growls. The claws loosen from his arm and make a quick, efficient trip to the back of Sinking’s neck. They are in his hair, and he is getting further from reality. 

“ _Cocksleeve_ ,” he whispers. The clothing on him has become insufferable to the point of mandatory escape, and Sinking starts unfastening with his free hand. He doesn't need two. If Keeps-In-Mouth rips them off, it wouldn't be too objectionable, but why not try and conserve them while he can? It's not like—

“Yes. Cocksleeve. Human good cocksleeve then. Will be good cocksleeve now?” Curious and entranced, Keeps-In-Mouth tugs his claws down Sinking's hair and it could drag him onto the floor of the cave in an instant.

“Yes,” Sinking promises. “The best.”

——

Two years later, that tongue on his ass does just as much of the trick. Sinking has no complaints about sex with humans, of course, but when “tongue-fucking” can be a literal descriptor, the goalposts can rightfully be considered moved. He is sloppy, and wet, and open, and he is _ready_ . “Please,” he cries, bucking away when Keeps-In-Mouth smooths his palm over Sinking’s weeping, red cock. He doesn’t want to cum yet, can’t. “Alpha, alpha, need to—fuck—need rutting, _please_.” 

Keeps-In-Mouth pulls out slower than Sinking can take, and drags his tongue up the fatebinder’s balls. Sinking dies for that moment, feels his soul depart his body. It’s only when the Blackpaw alpha grabs him like a ragdoll and flips him over, pulls him onto his knees and pushes his head into the pile of furs, that Sinking comes sputtering back to the mortal plane. “Needs rutting? Needs alpha,” Keeps-In-Mouth growls. “Other beastmen can rut, can even knot, but only Keeps-In-Mouth can make human cocksleeve.”

“Yes,” Sinking howls, presses his face down harder, lifts his ass up higher, grips three layers of furs in his fists because he needs something to remind him he’s here, that this is real. Though he’s had his fair share of dreams about this over the past two years, the real thing threatens to deceive him into thinking he’s simply upped his sex fantasy game. The thick weight of Keeps-In-Mouth’s cock against his thigh helps. 

“Alpha make sure human will not break on knot,” Keeps-In-Mouth promises, like he’s under some ridiculous impression that Sinking gives a fuck. “If human takes Alpha knot, will have no problem rutting with hunters.”

“Please, just—ah—Alpha, _please_. Sun-fall, remember? I don’t want you to share, either. First rut’s all yours. Just—get rutting.” Sinking starts to lift himself with his elbows, but moans in needful, enthusiastic approval when a clawed hand appears between his shoulders to force him back down. That’s a good sign. 

“Humans always so greedy,” Keeps-In-Mouth says, knocking Sinking’s legs open wider while he positions himself. “Sinking-Human even more.” 

Sinking is incredibly lucky that there’s a beat between Keeps-In-Mouth saying his name and that cock finally pushing into him, because he would have cum all over these lovely furs had they overlapped. Now, he can collect himself. Well, sort of. Dispelling the anticipation brings his focus to the massive shaft revising what it really means to be “full.” 

Sensation, for some reason, threatens his stamina far less than imagination. Sinking is, of course, still on a ticking clock in terms of how long he can last, but he’s not terribly concerned with staving it off; he knows that Keeps-In-Mouth is going to rut him until he’s bred, no matter when he reaches his own orgasm.

It’s a comforting fact.

——

Well-fucked and loose-limbed, Sinking breathes when Keeps-In-Mouth forces it out of him. “Good cocksleeve,” the Alpha says, earning a low, weak moan. “Human best rut.” He grips Sinking’s hips so hard that they worry to break him, but then, Keeps-In-Mouth’s body has been threatening to break him for over an hour. Two orgasms in already, Sinking wonders if he knows what he’s signed himself up for after dark.

He finds he doesn’t care.

The Blackpaw are a fearsome sort, and their Alpha ruts like a leader should—with impressive versatility. When he wants to tease, he pulls out so slowly, waits for his partner (prey, almost) to draw breath for a plea, and then slams back into Sinking like lightning. When he’s going hard, he’s like a damn machine, curling claws onto Sinking’s sides and maintaining a pace so jarring that keeping track of the rhythm would be a fool’s errand. No, Sinking is here to enjoy, to enjoy _being enjoyed_ , and he is—

“Best cocksleeve for Alpha,” Keeps-In-Mouth growls, nose in Sinking’s hair. “Perfect fit, perfect to take Alpha’s knot.”

He’s certainly been loosened up enough, and taking that knot is what he came here to do. Words in Common return to Sinking’s mind and he yelps, “Please, yes, please, Alpha, I—ah—want to feel it, want to know, please!”

Fingers, claws, and the heat of something wild mark a turning point, and Keeps-In-Mouth loses his even pace. The slaps of his body against Sinking’s are are harder, closer together and then farther apart, and he chuffs into the back of the fatebinder’s head, lets his nose roll down to that bare shoulder. “Breed,” he snarls, and Sinking whines quietly, and the anticipation is back. God damn his wretched cock.

Alpha marking is well-documented in accounts of sex between humans and beastmen (Sinking had done plenty of homework over the past two years for his edification, the bulk of which was concentrated shortly after their first encounter and within the past few weeks). The way Keeps-In-Mouth is huffing at his shoulder, but not baring his teeth against his skin, curls his toes from flattery. There is respect between them, even when they are both animals. Rather, even when they have both lost most of their humanlike consciousness. “You can,” Sinking chokes. “You can, ah, c-can mark, just don’t—not too hard.” He has a job, after all, and half-moon bloodstains on his clothing would raise questions upon his return. 

Keeps-In-Mouth pauses; his hips stop and start and his claws vacillate between more and less insistent. His whole body stutters for a bare, infinite second while he processes this new development, and then he surges back into motion. Racking up an even more punishing pace, he lets go of Sinking’s hips to brace one of his huge hands on the furs and hook his other arm underneath his human partner until those claws press into the fatebinder’s other shoulder. Sinking’s eyes are open, but they may as well be closed, because what he sees is not what is in front of him.

The beastman’s breath gets harder until Sinking feels like he’s getting physically pushed whenever those growls hit his skin. Then the center of pressure gets wider, the diffusal signaling the Alpha’s mouth breaking open like it’s the first time, and maybe it is, not in his life but in his experience with humans. Maybe Sinking is the only one to know this honor from a beautiful and fearsome Alpha who fought for what he has and who bears the marks of his victories with pride—

Oh, that fucking _smarts_.

Before the bite, Sinking’s view of the furs, the cave floor, his own hair jostling with each punctuated thrust, was embellished with his memories of the tree, when he could see Keeps-In-Mouth’s face while he wrecked him. That face in the dark of a beastman he didn’t realize was destined for greatness. In the cave, just a moment ago, Sinking was seeing Keeps-In-Mouth.

Now, with the Alpha’s teeth breaking skin and the promise of full and complete taking—and the knowledge that it’s still just the fucking _beginning_ of the rest of the night—Sinking sees stars, sees the gods, sees the entire collection of memories he has of taking his cock in his fist and summoning feelings of phantom cocks with tapered tips hitting him in places a man never could, and clear as crystal, he sees the Alpha.

How reassuring it is to have lost his mind and be called back by snarled warnings that have no words. The Alpha is lost as well, rutting into him with a force and speed that makes Sinking understand why the beastman secured him with that arm keeping his body in place. Otherwise, who knows? He could be rocketing into the wall at this point. A little head trauma never hurt anyone, but Sinking has the wherewithal to file away a plan to thank Keeps-In-Mouth for his graciousness.

And then, he feels it. The Alpha begins forceful rocking instead of pulling out, and Sinking leans back against him to make sure every inch is accounted for. The swelling is unlike anything he’s ever felt, and far beyond what his pathetic human imagination could have suggested for him. “Alpha,” he cries weakly, sputtering and leaning as far back as he can. 

“Sinking-Human stay still,” Keeps-In-Mouth snarls, drooling onto Sinking’s shoulder. “Will not break. Stay still.”

Sinking nods, nods again, keeps nodding until his neck hurts. His ass hurts, but he knows he’s ready, knows he’s more equipped for this than any human would be with any other beastman. All it takes is two (very, very) deep breaths and the bridge has been crossed. Pride has a meager shelf-life, however, because somewhere along the way, Keeps-In-Mouth’s knot has grown to strain against Sinking’s prostate. And he howls.

Keeps-In-Mouth struggles against him, shifts his leg forward so he can lift his hand from the furs just long enough to grab hold of Sinking’s wrist. “Will not break,” he promises again, and the words shake loosely from him, the last thing he can force from his mouth with a knot so full in a body so damn tight. He manages to pull his teeth from Sinking’s shoulder and shove his forehead into the human’s neck, scars sliding around in the sweat, and when he empties into his human, he howls. 

Sinking’s research did not enlighten him to the fact that a beastman’s cock, when knotting, does not go soft after an orgasm. Apparently, the opposite occurs. Keeps-In-Mouth’s shaft stays just as hard, and though it’s minute, Sinking can feel it swell even more. No change really feels small when it’s in your ass, he supposes. His cock is stiff and crying, the pressure on his prostate absolutely foreign. It would be unbearable, but it isn’t. It’s extremely bearable. He’ll bear it as long as he fucking can. 

“Not break,” Keeps-In-Mouth breathes, shifting his head so he can glide his tongue along the mark he left. “Sinking-Human strong, good for breeding.”

Sinking’s ribs lose some of their weight as he laughs. “Well, in some senses.”

“Breed-rut not always for whelps.” The Alpha lets go of Sinking’s wrist, runs his fingers over those smooth human knuckles until his palm hovers over his hand, a testament to just how large Keeps-In-Mouth is compared to his partner. His human. “Breed-rut for fun.”

Fun, indeed. Sinking is floating on it, in it, with it. Not once in his life has he felt so full, every shift in weight making vile and delicious squelching sounds when it pulls the knot against his hole, and against that extremely sensitive spot inside him. “Alpha, I, ah, I’m going to, I _want_ to...”

Keeps-In-Mouth simply grunts affirmatively, and Sinking thrusts his arm down to grasp his cock, completely happy to collapse onto the furs with just his own shoulder and the Alpha’s long arm holding him in place.

For all the intensity, all the roughness that he has enthusiastically endured, his orgasm stands in contrast; not falling from a peak, but cresting a hill, easy as the afternoon. The mess is one that neither he nor Keeps-In-Mouth will hurry to heed. He has never been fucked like this; the Alpha has, quite frankly, repurposed his body over the past—hour? Hours? The beginning matters much less than Sinking’s need for the end point to be far, far away.

The placement of daylight on the cave walls is a poor man’s clock, but the color speaks more precisely. Hueless when the fatebinder first arrived, it has since melted into the color of birch leaves in autumn. The sun’s recession heralds a separation that Sinking is not prepared to accept, but he and Keeps-In-Mouth are still tied, and he combs his filthy fingers through the forearm fur of a small-time king. 

“Will you tell me when the others are back?” Speech feels like sin. “Are you going to have to leave to get them?”

“Can summon from here,” Keeps-In-Mouth growls. “Sinking-Human stays.” As if it were up for debate. As if he would even entertain the idea of being anywhere else. The knot has started to soften, and Sinking grunts, moves back against it, doesn’t stop until he remembers it’s not the last one he’s going to have tonight. If he has any say in it, it’s not even the last time he’ll have this one. And Keeps-In-Mouth has made it clear that Sinking will be getting what he wants.

When the sun has set, Keeps-In-Mouth is rutting him again, and when the last stripe of orange deepens to violet, he offers to recruit the hunters. Sinking declines. This is enough. This is plenty. Better than what Fall-Foot and Lay-Claw could give him. The two of them, right here, is what he would much prefer. Keeps-In-Mouth rumbles and covers him in warmth and fills him again. Promises him miserable sleep, if he wants it. Exhaustion has never sounded so appealing.

**Author's Note:**

> i will be taking no questions because i have to save my energy for the ones the lord will ask me.  
> (the way my ao3 is going in 2020, i may just add that statement to my bio)


End file.
